Chapter 29
Goodbye, Chewy
Steve, are you ready for a busy day?” I asked as I opened the front door. With the clinic’s first anniversary fast approaching, business was good. Patient records filled the shelves behind the reception counter. The slots on the appointment book contained names for several weeks to come. Although the appointment calendar still had blank spaces, it was a great improvement from where we started. The balance in the company checkbook inched upwards. Maybe soon I could start taking a salary.
I rubbed the face of my watch against my shirt. Scratches covered the surface from too many close encounters with the animals. It read 7:30. Saturdays are unpredictable in veterinary medicine. Some are quiet while others are crazy. With most of the appointments slots taken, this looked like a busy one. We hustled to treat all the hospitalized kids before the appointments started.
At 7:45 a.m., the doorbell rang. Steve held a shit tzu on the treatment table. Buster leaned into his body and hid his face under Steve’s arm as I inspected the surgical incision on his rear end. Buster’s parents divorced earlier in the year. Linda Cooper wanted to stop by early to see Buster before her ex-husband picked him up. It was his week to have the dog.
Steve returned Buster to the first run in the kennel. The shaggy dog spun in circles and knocked over his water bowl. The water ran down the gray concrete floor to the drain. Buster pranced in the water, soaking the fur on his paws.
“Buster,” Steve said in disgust. “You stinker! I’ll dry off your feet after I see who’s up front.”
In the lobby, a small blond woman waited at the counter. Curly hair framed her round face and blue eyes. A young girl played in the waiting room, crashing cars together before rolling them off the table onto the floor. When she ran out of cars, she focused her attention on the Disney stickers on the wall. Her little fingers peeled them off with ease. She turned Pongo upside down and placed Perdita on the front window. She grouped the rest of the Dalmatian puppies below their mother on the window.
“Good morning,” Steve said as he entered the reception area. “How may I help you?”
“I’m picking up some heartworm preventative for Rusty Baylor,” Melanie replied.
“Well it’s nice to meet you.” He stuck out his right hand. “I’m Steve, Kris husband. She’s told me a lot about your family.”
“I bet she has.” Melanie shook hands with Steve. Just then a loud crash resounded from the play area. “Rachel, I told you to play nice,” she scolded.
“It wasn’t my fault,” the girl replied. “Pongo made the table tip over.”
Steve rifled through the items on the shelf behind the counter. Medications in plastic bags filled the space. One by one, Steve looked at the prescription labels until he found a package marked Rusty Baylor. Another crash came from the play area.
“Rachel Catherine Baylor, I told you to play nice.” Melanie marched into the kids’ area and grabbed the child’s arm. She pulled her into the lobby and placed her in a chair by the window. The minute she turned her back, Rachel ran back into the kids’ room.
“Uh, Melanie,” Steve pointed at the empty chair. Melanie grabbed her again and seated her in the same chair. This time she pointed her finger at the child as she commanded her to stay. Rachel folded her arms across her chest and scowled at her mother. Melanie stared for 10 seconds, then returned to the counter to pay for the medicine. Rachel turned her attention to the Norfolk pine next to her. She ran the soft branches through her fingers. When Melanie wasn’t looking, she snapped off the branch.
“Rachel,” Steve said in an authoritative voice. “Leave the plant alone.”
Melanie turned around to look at her daughter. “That’s it. We are not going to the toy store.” Rachel’s face turned red. She took a deep breath, then screamed. Loud wails filled the clinic. Melanie zipped the medicine into her purse, took Rachel’s hand in hers and marched the girl outside. Steve waved through the window, relieved that all of our children were animals.
At precisely 9 a.m., a white van pulled up and parked in front of the clinic. Frank jumped out of the driver’s seat clad in his navy blue Customs uniform. Trudy rode in a crate in back. Once Frank gave her the OK command, she leaped out of the vehicle, her tail wagging back and forth in big loops that shook her entire rear end. She loved coming to the vet!
Frank led Trudy directly to the scale. The digital monitor flashed 49.2 pounds. “She is back to her normal weight,” Frank announced to Steve. “Now if her blood clots, we are all set.” At the six-week check, Trudy’s blood test had surprised us all –̶ her clotting time was still prolonged. I had placed her on another three weeks of vitamin K1. We all hoped it would be her last dose.
As the test ran, Frank demonstrated Trudy’s ability to find drugs. He hid two training boxes in the clinic, one in a pharmacy cabinet and the other in between bags of prescription dog food. He brought Trudy back into the room and gave the search command. Trudy sprang into action. She started at one end of the room with Frank trailing behind her. Two feet past the cabinet containing the box, she stopped dead in her tacks. Her nose swung back toward the cabinet. She sniffed the front, scratched the door and sat down in front of it.
“Good girl, Trudy.” Frank pulled the rolled-up towel from his back pocket. Trudy jumped up and grabbed it with her teeth. The two played tug-of-war for a minute. “Good girl, Trudy. You’re a good girl,” he continued to praise her. Eventually, Frank released his grip on the towel, and Trudy trotted around the room, displaying her prize proudly. She looked great. Frank called her back and clipped the lead onto her collar. Again, he gave the search command. Trudy continued where she left off. When she reached the food storage area, she zeroed in on the lower shelf. Two sniffs later, she found the second box.
The timer dinged a minute after Trudy finished her demonstration. I crossed my fingers on my left hand as I slowly inverted the tube. The blood stayed firmly in place at the top, forming a hard clot that would not budge.
“Congratulations, Frank,” I said holding the tube in my hand. “She’s back to normal.” Frank knelt down and hugged Trudy. She rested her head on his shoulder and licked his neck. She was not sure why he was hugging her, but she certainly loved it.
“Before I go, I need to ask you one last favor, Dr. Nelson.” The seriousness of Frank’s voice made me freeze. “Would you mind writing a report about this?”
“A report?” I asked. “What kind of report?”
At the same time Trudy got sick, two other Customs dogs on the border suddenly stopped working. They eventually died. The FBI launched a formal investigation into the matter to determine if the two events were related or simply a coincidence. Frank hoped the results would clear him of any wrongdoing. He pulled an official envelope out of his pocket. They wanted a copy of Trudy’s medical record as well as my opinion on the matter.
“Frank, you weren’t negligent.” I patted his arm. He continued to look at the ground. “In my experience, dogs that get into a small amount of rat bait, even the long-acting stuff, don’t need nine weeks of therapy. I don’t think she grabbed a mouthful when you were searching a warehouse. I think she ate a large amount, which means someone poisoned her on purpose.” Frank looked up at me with an intense look. “I’ve been suspicious since the three-week check. The death of the dogs on the border confirms my feelings. I’m just glad they used something I could treat.”
“Really.” Frank stared into my eyes.
“Yes, she’s the first patient I’ve ever had that didn’t clot at all at the three-week recheck.” I looked at Trudy. “And the first patient I’ve had to treat for nine weeks. I think she ate a ton of poison. This wasn’t an accident.” Frank stood up straight. A gleam returned to his eyes.
“Thanks, Dr. Nelson.” He shook my hand. “I appreciate your help.”
Ten minutes after Frank and Trudy left, a bright red pickup truck with dual back wheels pulled into the parking lot. The chrome spokes sparkled as the truck rolled to a sto
p. More chrome framed the license plates, which declared “Minnesota Land of Ten Thousand Lakes.” Dad hopped out of the driver’s seat in a short-sleeve shirt with a thermos of coffee in one hand and his tool belt in the other.
“Hi, Dad,” I greeted him as he walked into the treatment room. I knelt in front of the treatment table with a syringe in my hand. Steve held a fluffy white cat on the table with his front legs over the edge. The cat swished his tail back and forth.
“What are you two doing?” Dad asked.
“I need some blood from this cat. Unfortunately, Fluffy is not cooperating.” I sprayed more rubbing alcohol on his neck and smoothed down the hair. “Steve, on the count of three, blow into his face.” I removed the cap from the needle. “One.” I pressed my fingers into his neck. His left jugular swelled. “Two.” I held the syringe up to his neck. Steve inhaled deeply. “Three.” I poked the syringe through the skin as Steve blew. Fluffy growled but did not move. Blood rushed into the syringe from the large vein.
Fluffy’s growls turned into death threats. “I’m not sure I can hold him like this much longer,” Steve announced between puffs. “Hurry!”
“Just a little more,” I replied. Fluffy screamed. Saliva dripped from his lips onto my hand. Fluffy managed to free one of his front legs from Steve’s grasp.
“Watch out,” Steve yelled. Fluffy extended his claws and swiped at my hand. I pulled away just in time to feel the air rush by my skin. “Whew, that was a close one.” Steve regained control of the cat and applied pressure to the venipuncture site. Two minutes later, he placed Fluffy’s carrier on the table. Fluffy looked around for a second, then bolted inside. From the safety of his carrier, we heard a deep rumble.
“Oh, enough already.” Steve closed the door and carried the angry cat back to his owner.
“You have a full waiting room up front, Kris,” Dad commented. “Business must be good.”
“Yeah, we’ve been busy.” I smiled at my Dad. “It’s changed a lot since that first day. Remember when you and I walked into this place? It was a disaster.”
“Don’t remind me,” he replied. “Your business made a lot of work for me.” He looked around the treatment room. The cabinet door under the scrub sink was open, and a bright yellow bucket sat beneath the pipes. He removed his tool belt and lay down on his back with his head inside the cabinet. I returned to the pharmacy for my next appointment.
Since her last visit, Chewy, the gerbil, had lived like a princess, enjoying the special treatment her young owner lavished on her. Billy spent every minute he could with his little friend. The gerbil enjoyed extra time in her plastic ball, exploring her environment. When she finished, Billy rewarded her with her favorite treats. Afterwards, she curled up for a nap in the pocket of his hoodie. Life was great until yesterday –̶ when she stopped eating.
Inside the cat room, Billy sat on the chair with Chewy in his arms. His eyes were red and swollen. Jill stood by his side with her hand on her son’s shoulder. She instructed him to put Chewy on the table for her examination.
“Oh, that’s OK. I’ll examine her in your arms.” I exchanged places with Jill and knelt beside the boy. Chewy looked horrible. A dull scruffy coat replaced her sleek brown fur. Her eyes looked dull, too. She had lost a tremendous amount of weight; I could not feel any subcutaneous fat anywhere. When I ran my finger down the leg with the tumor, it felt like all her muscle was gone. The tumor had doubled in size since her last visit. She held her leg off the ground and was careful not to lie on it.
I watched her for a minute before placing my stethoscope on her chest. Her sides heaved in and out in rapid succession. Through the eartips I heard abnormal crackles and pops. Her inquisitive personality evaporated as she struggled for air. I placed the bell against the other side of her chest, and my heart sank.
“I’m hearing some abnormal sounds in her chest.” I replaced the stethoscope around my neck. I stroked Chewy’s head and stood up. A heavy silence filled the room.
“Do you think the tumor has spread?” Jill asked.
I swallowed hard before answering. “That’s what I’m afraid of.” I looked down at the gerbil cuddled into Billy’s arms. “But we need to take an X-ray to make sure it’s not something I can treat, like pneumonia.”
“Go ahead and take the X-ray,” Jill said. “Billy and I will wait outside in the car.”
I reached my hands toward Chewy. Billy hugged her as tears rolled down his cheeks. “Give Chewy to Dr. Nelson,” Jill instructed her son. Billy kissed the gerbil on the forehead, held her another 30 seconds and then placed her in my hands.
Fifteen minutes later, the X-rays confirmed my worst fears. Cancer filled Chewy’s lungs. I couldn’t find any normal areas. I held Chewy against my chest as Steve went to get her family. She felt so frail. The cancer seemed to devour her body right in front of my eyes.
Jill looked at me and knew immediately that the news was not good. She placed her arm around her son’s shoulders and held a tissue to her nose. Billy looked at me with eager eyes. He hoped beyond hope that I would be able to help his friend. I took a deep breath. This was the part of my job that I dread.
“I’m afraid it’s not good,” I told him as I handed Chewy to him. Instead of sniffing his face like normal, she just lay in his arms. I pointed to her lungs on the X-ray. “The tumor on her leg has metastasized to her lungs. See all the white lumps?” Jill stared at the film in silence.
“Is she suffering?” Jill whispered.
“Yes, she can’t breathe because the tumor has destroyed most of her lung tissue.”
Jill knelt down in front of her son and drew him near. Billy buried his face on her shoulder and wept. I dabbed at my eyes with a tissue. Dad stopped his work under the sink. He looked at me and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket.
“We do not want her to suffer,” Jill said, still hugging her son. “We love her too much for that.”
I nodded in response. “I’ll anesthetize Chewy, and then I’ll give her a drug that stops her heart. She won’t feel a thing. She’ll just fall asleep.” I tried to smile reassuringly. “Then after she’s gone, you can take her body home with you, or I can cremate her for you.”
“We talked about it in the car.” Jill looked at her son. “We would like to keep Chewy’s ashes with us so we never forget her.” The boy nodded, his face wet with tears.
“You’ll never forget Chewy. She will always hold a special place in your heart,” I replied.
Jill cleared her throat. “Billy, it’s time to give Chewy to Dr. Nelson.” Billy stared into his mother’s eyes for a few seconds. He drew the gerbil close to his heart and kissed her on the head. She reached up and touched his face with her nose, like she did when she was healthy. Then she collapsed in his arms.
“Please take good care of her, Dr. Nelson,” Billy whispered. “Tell her that I love her and that she’s the best gerbil in the world.” I nodded and blinked back the tears. Billy placed her in my hands and kissed her again. “Bye, Chewy, I love you.”
Jill wiped tears from her eyes. She kissed her finger and touched Chewy’s head with it. “Thank you for taking such good care of Chewy,” she said to me. The words pierced my heart like a knife. I could never understand why clients thanked me for ending their pet’s life. To me, euthanasia always felt like defeat. I forced a smile in response.
Jill hugged her son and escorted him out of the room. As soon as they left the building, I hooked up the anesthesia machine. I placed Chewy inside the large dog nose cone. She lay on her side without exploring the unfamiliar environment. Within a minute of turning on the gas, she slept. As the gas continued to flow, Chewy’s respirations slowed until her chest stopped moving. I removed her limp body from the cone.
“Rest in peace, little Chewy. Your family loves you very much.” Dad joined me at the treatment table as I gave the final injection. “You are the best gerbil in the world.” I wrapped her up in a towel and placed her inside a plastic bag. In big black letters I wrote, “Chewy
Carlson, Private Cremation” across the front.
I looked at my Dad. “And that is the worst part of being a veterinarian,” I said. Dad nodded. He patted the plastic bag, then returned to the sink without saying a word.
Dealing with death is a big part of veterinary medicine. Veterinarians must find a way to process death, or their careers will be short-lived. For me, the best medicine is to spend time with another animal. I walked into my office and found Genny asleep on the office chair. I closed the door and knelt beside her. In the privacy of the office, I buried my face in her fur and cried. I cried for Chewy and all the other animals I euthanized over my career.
Genny looked at me with sleepy eyes. Although she didn’t understand why, she knew I was upset and wanted to help. She placed one of her front paws on my cheek. A second later, she started to purr. It was exactly what I needed.
Chapter 30
Miracle of Life
After losing Chewy, fate blessed me with the perfect gift to lift my spirit – the creation of life with two adorable golden retrievers. Goldens are among the happiest dogs on earth. They rarely seem to have a bad day and live with gusto. Give them a ball, and they play for hours. Give them the same dry dog food day after day, and they wolf it down in less than a minute. Give them love, and they return it tenfold.
When I emerged from the office, a large golden named Sam waited for me in the pharmacy/laboratory area. He sat patiently by his owner, Ron Evans, who leaned against the counter dressed in khaki shorts and a golf shirt. On the counter next to him was a package of sterile gloves, a long pipette and a heating pad. An artificial vagina and test tube warmed beneath the pad.
Coated With Fur: A Vet's Life Page 24
